


my time has come and i need someone

by sultrygoblin



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, Fluff, it's just an excuse to write charlie cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24566374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrygoblin/pseuds/sultrygoblin
Summary: one shot- charlie still isn’t sure what to do when girls like him, especially when it seems genuine.
Relationships: Charlie Kelly/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	my time has come and i need someone

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t know what to write. i’ve been blocked. i wanted to read some charlie kelly fic, there wasn’t any, this popped in my head. this is what you get. there needs to be more charlie kelly x reader fic and i wouldn’t have to do stuff like this

“Charlie, a chaste alley is not a thing,” Dennis said with a far too familiar feeling of utter confusion and annoyance.

Said Charlie opened and closed his mouth. Floundering for some kind of answer. You had not at all creepily watching him for weeks. Literal weeks. Which was odd considering he seemed to be the human equivalent of a trash panda. Not a raccoon. He had no intent to find something better as a raccoon might if given access to an attic or garage. No, he seemed perfectly happy with his life and there was something incredibly appealing about that. A lot of things could be said negatively about the man you had found yourself becoming infatuated with but you couldn't say he didn't know exactly who he was and was that person all the time. To be fair you only caught snapshots of their lives from the corner of the bar. Simon and Leon, who you're pretty sure had grown out of the stools they sat on, seemed all too happy to answer your questions. Though they were few and far between. The group were big fans of exposition and more than once you could swear you could hear someone saying previously on but that seemed more than likely to be completely in your head. More than likely.

“Um, yeah it is,” you pipe up, if only to wipe away the bartender's smugness, “It's uh,” you hopped to your feet and gulped down the rest of your drink and approaching the bar, realizing for the first time they were actually seeing you, “A chaste alley is an alley, of course, where the hookers only...give....” you worried your bottom lip between your teeth realizing if you didn't save this all your unnecessary staring would prove completely useless, “Handjobs!” which was the first time you had ever said the word with that level of excitement, “A chaste alley is one where the hookers only give handjobs,” setting down your glass with a victorious thud, “Right?” turning your eyes to Charlie.

He looks confused, which wasn't a new look but nodded, “Yeah. Yup. That's what it is. She's...she's...” starting to lose steam, hands on his hips and exhaling slowly, “She's got it.”

You turned your eyes back to the man who now had an unreadable expression you knew to be dangerous for a variety of reasons, “Rum and Sprite, again. And in light of the fact that I have recently come on your very creepy radar, if you would be so kind as to hold the roofie?” dropping the price plus tip on the counter in cash.

You had gone to talk to Charlie, hoping you had gotten your foot in the door to find the area beside you completely empty. Which meant getting your drink and returning the corner, but no longer ignored. The burning gaze of the, no doubt, serial killer and how the object of your burgeoning affections ran as fast as possible. Not humanely possible because it seems even faster than that.

You're thankful when it seems the normal insanity has befallen the group and you're able to stumble outside unnoticed. Mostly. You had thought you were by yourself was really the point. When you collapsed on the curb, taking a long deep breath and knowing you should order a ride home.

“Idiot,” you mumbled, patting down your oversized jean jacket, finding a crumpled pack of cigarettes you had forgotten were in this thing, “C'est la vie or some shit,” grinding the soft pack into the concrete with your heel if only to avoid temptation.

“Why'd you do that?” lolling your head to find the voice that sounded really familiar, “I, like, don't even know you.”

“Because I, like,” Charlie, you stopped, shaking your head and widening your eyes, “Help me up,” reaching out your hands and grabbing towards him like an infant, “Dear God man, help a lady out!”

He jumped and scurried, that was the only way it could be described before stumbling into the street and grabbing your hands and yanking you to your feet, quite ungracefully. Mostly because you were focused on his hands which were much softer than you had imagined they would be. They were still rough, of course, but some softness lingered between the cracks. They were strong too. You knew they had to be, what with all his talk of rat bashing and the sheer amount of trash he seemed capable of carrying, but even then you hadn't imagined they could be this strong. You tried not to imagine the lift from Dirty Dancing and instead focus on the fact he had asked a question and you had so rudely interrupted your own answer. He was looking expectantly.

“Because,” you shook your head and rubbed your eyes, that feeling of being on a boat returning and reminding you of half the reason you had sat down in the first place, “Because I think I kinda like you or something.”

“You what now?” furrowing his brows, it had never occurred to you that other women might not have found him so charmingly endearing, even if there had been they had to have been few and far between. At least you hoped, “Where did you even come from? I've, like, never seen you before and suddenly you're helping me and saying you like me or something. Like who even are you?”

You wobbled on your feet, gripping his hands tighter to steady yourself. Which reminded him it seemed and he was yanking them away fast as lightning, his face surprisingly flushed. Though that could've been anger, drunkenness, or a thousand other things before an honest to god blush. Drunk you liked to think it was a blush though so that's how you would vaguely remember this when you woke up tomorrow morning.

“You know what, ignore me,” you stepped backward, shaking your head with a smile, “I'm just dumb. I thought- you know, I don't know what I thought,” turns out even if you wanted to fall shame was a great motivator not to, you're absolutely positive it won't last long.

“No, hey, I'm sorry,” shoving his hands in his pockets and stepping onto the curb where you'd been, which brought him much closer than he'd been before, “I don't wanna make you feel bad or anything. It sucks when the person you like makes you feel bad about it.”

“Waitress,” you nodded with a point.

“How do you know that?” No doubt he was going through his Rolodex of magical creatures trying to figure out the answer because he couldn't think of the obvious. None of them did.

You laughed, it's starting to slip and your body starts to slump, “I've come in every other night for like...three weeks? And your gang is neither quiet nor aware nor attentive,” listing them off on your fingers before dropping your hand, “Hey, so, I'm gonna fall...” you did feel genuinely bad that it was about to happen. At least it was your second impression so you only had to feel half the embarrassment.

He managed to catch you around the waist, “Alright, this is just not safe,” turning his head to the door and then back to you groaning, “Where do you live?”

Which somehow felt less safe but you told him anyway, you remembered making it in the main door and thanking him before he jogged off. Something about something, he seemed worried and you weren't sure if it was because of whatever this something was or you. You remembered hoping it was you before you woke up in bed.

Not the longest blackout. You still had a shoe on and you were face-first on the bed. In the door and straight to sleep, it didn't happen often but such a blessing when it did. And you saved a lot on groceries when you weren't drunkenly burning them or making concoctions you would only ever be interested in for that moment. But that couldn't be your focus, stripping out of your clothes and hopping in the shower that only ever made it to lukewarm before starting breakfast. Which was a half a joint from the ashtray on the counter, a cup of coffee, and a bagel. Followed by clothes, a reminder that you needed to do laundry. Your last pair of underwear and jeans that were barely still wearable were a screaming reminder of that. No Paddy's Pub after work tonight.

Which had been a shit show as always, or maybe that's because it was your Friday. Either way, you justified that you didn't need to wear underwear under sweatpants, and tomorrow you didn't have to work. Laundry could wait until tomorrow but really you just wanted to get pleasantly drunk. Not like last night, you shook your head as you grabbed the door's handle in an attempt to rid yourself of the memory. You weren't embarrassed exactly but you definitely felt like an ass, if only because you had been teetering on the epitome of drunk girl. Or had reached it. At a certain point, it was all fuzzy and you just hoped for the best opening the door and stepping in.

“Rum and Sprite,” Dennis called with a smile, gesturing to a seat at the bar near the others.

“No, no,” you shook your head, “I will not do this. I have a name,” stepping across the floor and grabbing the drink that appeared when you'd reached the wooden counter, leaving it at that.

If you had known the night that would ensue from saying that you were sure you still would have. Of course, Charlie spent most of it avoiding you which was your own damn fault and you would have to stew in it. But Dee seemed to enjoy not only have another girl around that Dennis had no interest in and was in no way trying to upstage her. You were appreciative of both these facts because it did give you a leg up, if only because you were a bit more on the ball than her. They also had no default insult for you yet unlike her and you couldn't deny bird was a little more accurate than you would ever admit to her. Even during drunken girl talk, at least you hoped. It did require a bit more paying attention than you expected but a lot less effort than you had ever had to put in on the other side of the bar. They were talking about some scheme you were thankful not to know too much about but you gathered that's because you had missed what had happened this morning. Which had been big according to Mac but all the others explained hadn't really been but had lead to...something. You had sort of faded out because he had reappeared, seeming to understand that you weren't going anywhere and there was a serious risk of you becoming a secondary character in their sitcom of a bar. It did keep you from drinking too much, not drinking alone will do that and by the time last call began to loom you were in a much better place than last night. For pretty much every reason you could think of. Well, except that Dennis was side-eyeing you in that way. You were not his type, this wasn't what it was. Just some sort of dominance game because you didn't share a genetic chain. That was your sign it was time to go. You went to pay and got back way more than you should have, which you would've asked about but no reason to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or maybe it was some discount that came from moving into the inner circle temporarily. Whatever it may be you happily took it and your last drink. 

Charlie appeared, more indignant than any child you had ever had the displeasure of meeting, “What are you doing here?” you tapped the side of your glass as you took a long sip, “That's not what I mean, why...you said you like me and we still don't know your name.”

Dragging the attention of the gang. Dee seemed equally disgusted by your supposed interest in Charlie who just seemed to realize you hadn't revealed the information. Mac focuses on the latter. Her twin had a far more sinister look you did not like and you're sure it has to do with the suddenly public information. The little man they called Frank just laughed. For the first time all day, last night had finally come back to bite you in the ass.

“Hey, look at that,” slurping down the drink nowhere near as quickly as you hoped before hopping to your feet, “See you around!” running in a fashion that reminded you of the man who had sent you running and you realized once you made it outside why it was the move he'd chosen.

It worked. Between that and no one having your phone number, you were home free. You spent the next day doing laundry as you had promised yourself that you would. You whipped yourself up a nice home-cooked meal of frozen chicken and instant mashed potatoes but you edited. Your own twist made it count as far as you were concerned. And then it was 8:30 pm on your Saturday night. You could go to a different bar, that was loud or farther away from home. And you didn't really want to. In all honesty, this weird pseudo mystery you had created by just being a little too drunk might be the only thing keeping him in any way interested in you. You grumbled to yourself the entire time you got dressed, brushed your hair, and walked to the bar with your hands in your pockets.

Thankfully they seemed embroiled with their most recent scheme and once more returned to the land of background character. That suited you just fine after the last two evenings. Watching videos on your phone that was plugged into the sparking outlet by your knees and getting lost across the web while you sipped responsibly suited you just fine. It was nice to actually remember the nights at the bar and it helped in not making an ass out of yourself again, which is what you were most stoked about. It was a fluke, that was all, you could return to pining from afar. Equally as creepy as his own overtures but at least from far away, no one could really talk any shit. And that was the most important part really.

Until Charlie slid into the seat across from you, yanking your phone out of your hand, and flipping it face down on the bar, “What's your name?”

You shrugged, “Why does it matter?” scooting your phone to the side before folding your hands together on the table.

He scoffed, once, twice, and third time seemed to be the charm because he slammed his palms on the table, “I can't ask you to dinner if you don't tell me your name, alright? Because I have to say 'your name I would very much like it if you would accompany me to supper tomorrow evening.”

You can't help the way your face scrunches up, “I don't want any of that,” shaking your head and dropping your hands over his, “Just have a drink with me. Let's talk. If you still like me after then I'll tell you my name. I promise.”

He didn't seem to believe you but it wasn't like he had another option. Plus, the time between him leaving, getting the drink, and coming back you could calm yourself down. If anyone had seen who you were getting worked up over they might've thought you were a little off-kilter and they would've been right. But hot, weird, and able to handle is liquor was the dream, and Charlie had smacked you right in the face with all three. When he arrives the first thing you ask him is his favorite thing to do and, boy, it is nothing you would have ever guessed. From traversing the sewers to bashing rats, he didn't leave one stone unturned. You hoped he wasn't trying to talk you out of wanting to drag him back to your, now in comparison much better, apartment because it wasn't working. The schemes came next, before you knew it, three drinks had passed and Dennis had called last call. Which was your queue to leave. At least you had thought so.

“No, sit,” Charlie says when you try to stand, swiping your drink off the tabletop and walking up to the bar. He returns with a fresh one, “Drink. I'll,” rubbing the back of his neck, “I'll walk you home again.”

You nodded, “I'd like that.”

It doesn't surprise you how fast every one takes off and leaves him to take care of everything. When they do, you dare to move across the floor to the bar. He smiles at you with the broom in his hand. Your favorite part is he keeps talking. Telling you about Green Man, the whole confusion that is relationship with Frank. More importantly, he talks about The Waitress. He expects you to be uncomfortable because he apologizes more than a few times before picking up right where he left off. By the end, the bar is clean and he's gone silent. Leaning on the end of his mop, watching you empty and clean your drink glass, the least you could do after watching him clean for the better part of an hour.

“Huh,” he says suddenly causing you to look up at him as you stepped back around the bar, “I don't think I've ever talked that long to any girl about anything.”

“Well, I'm glad to have been of assistance,” you laughed, leaning against the wood just a few stools down from him, “Since you're feeling so open, can I ask you a question?” he stopped, actually seeming to consider it before nodding, “Did you ask me out because you wanted to ask me out or because they told you to?” his eyes widened ever so slightly, “I won't be mad, I swear, I just don't want to get confused or anything. I really like you and just if you don't...well, you just shouldn't that again if you don't, alright?” it felt stupid saying it out loud, you focused on digging your thumbnails underneath each other and keeping your eyes on them as you did.

“Yeah, yeah, I asked because the gang told me to,” you hear the mop plop in the bucket, “But I asked you to stay because I wanted you to,” you can see his dirtied vans appear and you look up because if you don't he might touch you and you're not too sure if you're ready for that, “I've just been in love with the Waitress forever, I don't even know if I know how to like someone.

You smile, the admission making you feel much more comfortable in the moment, “I think you're doing pretty good,” with a light shrug, “Walking me home is good.”

“Yeah?” you nodded, “Yeah. It is. It's good I want to walk you home and make sure you're safe. It's not creepy and if I like wanna look in your window-” you can't help laughing, shaking your head with a slight roll of your eyes, “What?”

“You can just ask to come up,” you answered, watching as he moved around the bar to hit the lights, “I was gonna invite you up, no pressure. Just to like sleep. It sounds like you might've earned it. My back hurts thinking about that pull-out.”

“You get used to it,” once again reminding you that he was unabashedly at ease with his life, “You got a big bed or something?”

You nodded, “It's got at least 7 pillows and 4, that's right I said 4, blankets.”

His eyes widened like you'd told him you own a private jet and your heartbeat picks up. There's something about how easy it is to impress him, you actually feel good about yourself for the first time in a while and you're not in any hurry to let that feeling go. He points towards the door as he kicks off the last of the lights.

“I'll think about,” he says, more as if the idea had never occurred to him and he had to come to terms with it than deciding if he would, “Good thing I have to tell Frank with those pictures or you'd have to tell me your name.”

“I think at this point if I told you it wouldn't live up to expectations,” stepping out into the cold night air and pulling your suddenly too thin jacket around you, “You pick one.”

Making sure the door was locked he turned around, “You want me to name you?” you nodded, “Alright. But I've got to think of a really good one.”

He doesn't seem to notice slipping his arm around you and pulling you against him but you do, “But a fun one too. That's the point, right?”

“Who do you think you're talking to? Come on!” your arm slips around his waist and he does notice that but his response is only to clear his throat, “So, I'm thinking we stick in the food family...”

The walk back is spent weighing the pros and cons of food-based names when you use the example of calling him chicken cutlet and the aggressive shudder that runs through him at it. This forces him to agree that anything outside the sweets and dessert category is just the littlest bit creepy. He's got it narrowed down to five when you unlock your apartment door, flicking on the light and welcoming him as you shut and lock the door behind him.

It isn't much but he looks a lot like you had the first time you'd ever stepped foot in a Courtyard Marriott. It's a collection of furniture and decorations you'd acquired from thrifts shops and the street. Nothing matches but it feels like that's the way it's supposed to be. He's looking around, clearly not alarmed by the lack of photos as the only other two men you'd brought up here had. Apparently, it was strange to not talk to your family and have a hard time making friends. You're sure it is but they didn't need to say it in such a hurtful tone. Nor had they needed to insult your interior decorating. Non-issues when it came to your newest paramour it seemed.

“Show me these fabled 7 pillows,” his voice rife with suspicion as if you'd used it to lure him into your lair and now would do something terrible with him.

You toed off your shoes and dropped your jacket by the door before walking across the room to hanging curtain you'd paid a quarter for at a flea market. Your bed is where all your money had gone, you spent so much of your time in it you had felt the need to splurge on it. It just sits on a wooden platform you'd made from pilfered pallets. But it's massive and fluffy, covered in thick fuzzy blankets and an assortment of pillows that never matched the other.

“My god, it's real,” reminding you far too much of Indiana Jones, you might've said just that but he's wrapping his arms around your waist and pushing forward, “We've gotta get in that bed.”

“It's not going anywhere,” but you follow along all the same until he's pulled you down onto the bed and you both bounce, “You just have to ask and all of this can be yours whenever you'd like,” a selfish part of you just wants him to stay, using the discovery as bribery, but it was a fleeting thought, “I mean, if you want.”

Both of you on your sides made it hard not look at each other, “Like, if I want you to be my girlfriend?” you nodded, realizing how ridiculous that sounded now, “I gotta give you a name first,” it was a clear bind for him but if that was it you were happy to wait around, “But when I do, you better look out, little lady.”

You both scrambled along the bed, adjusting blankets, positioning pillows, finding the right angle for each limb, until you were snuggled against each other deep inside what could only be described as a nest. You're betting the likelihood anyone could even tell you were in the bed from the outside as yawns began to set in. Your head his between a pillow and his own, the scratch of his stubble as he spoke and moved his head actually pleasant. He suddenly goes quiet, you're sure he's fallen asleep until his head pulls deliberately backward. His face that of a genius who has just solved the mystery of time travel or something to that effect.

“Jellybean,” he's smug about the answer and it takes you a second to understand what exactly he means but he seems happy to take that as speechlessness in the wake of his incredible creativity, “And now that we've gotten that out of the way...”

You don't expect a kiss at all. Not that you thought you'd never kiss just that this night seemed pretty G rated when it came to the adult situations. It's soft, pressing against you for a few seconds, before pulling away. Whatever reason has him pulling away you're happy to dash it from his mind by initiating the second kiss. This one a little deeper, a little harder, but neither of you toe beyond PG, more so to do with the fact that you're both beginning to nod off than any sort of social-sexual contract that says they oughtn't. It's how you fall asleep and it's how you wake up, pressed against him and lips almost touching.

You make the executive decision to kiss him awake.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and feedback is always great. you can also check out my tumblr


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